


Non Sequindor

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Marauders' Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-15
Updated: 2009-08-22
Packaged: 2019-01-19 13:58:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12411651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: Marauder's-era non sequiturs about those mischievous Gryffindors; mostly unrelated longer-than-drabbles centering on the lives of Lily and Messrs. MWPP. Inspired by oft-unwritten viewpoints and sometimes by bad rap music.





	1. Heads

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

Sixth year, the summer preceding

_All you savage cats_  
Know that I was strapped with gats  
While you were cuddling in the cabbage patch.  
Forgot About Dre, Dr. Dre (ft. Eminem)  
…..

 

Dumbledore sat in his comfortable office chair one lazy summer afternoon, thinking that indeed this chair was the most comfortable he had ever had and how sad he would be when it had to be chucked. The snug upholstery, the chocolaty wood, and the way the golden sunlight caught the purple velvet covering all suited him very well. Where had he ever gotten it in the first place, though? He believed it was at a bazaar in Surrey, but he couldn’t be certain. Maybe Horace would remember.

He had learned a long time ago that his mind was really much too smart for him, and it was better to do what it wanted and spend certain stretches of time in idle contemplation while it reorganized itself. Dumbledore was filling out various forms and letters and waiting for his appointment with Minerva, observing the giant squid’s dreamlike path across the shining lake. There was nothing quite like a summer at Hogwarts.

Fawkes–his dearest companion–roosted comfortably by the window of the room. Now, Fawkes certainly had no need for a chair, but how would it be to engineer a basket of the same make as the desk chair? Oftentimes, the phoenix preferred a perch, but on days like today a basket of matching chocolaty wood might be just the thing…

Footsteps on the stairs drew him out of his quiet reverie. Dumbledore looked down at his long hands, hairless and whitish with little dark spots, and the parchment they held. What a miracle of invention was the written word. He had just finished sutffing the envelopes when Minerva knocked on the door.

“Come in,”� he called genially, and a slightly harassed-looking McGonagall strode to the seat before his desk. Dumbledore assumed the source of her annoyance was Peeves, who had reputedly holed himself up in a dungeon room with all of Mr. Filch’s cleaning supplies sometime earlier that morning. It wasn’t altogether unexpected, though, that McGonagall’s frown lines deepened when she saw the addresses on the envelopes he held.

“Albus?”�

“Afternoon, Minerva. Has Peeves relinquished the mops yet?”�

“No, but Filch got Professor Sprout to go with him to try to reason with Peeves–”� McGonagall pronounced this plan with a dubious eyebrow raised “–and Peeves likes her well enough, so there’s a chance of it happening today.”�

“Ah, most encouraging.”� He smiled knowingly. “But I assume you didn’t come to see me just to discuss that matter.”�

“No, quite right, Albus.”� McGonagall leaned forward a bit and eyed the smooth missals before him. “It’s more of what we spoke about last week, about those letters you have there.”�

“Oh yes, the choices for Head Boy and Head Girl.”� Dumbledore noted a slight discomfort indentation in her sharp chin. “I remember you had some concerns about them. Is that what you wish to discuss?”�

“Yes… well, it’s just that Potter and Evans have a history together, you know.”�

“Romantic, isn’t it?”�

“More like vitriolic.”� McGonagall smiled wryly. “The boy has been besotted with her for two years, but she won’t give him the time of day. In fact, it’s Evans who usually gives him what-for when he commits some new spectacular idiocy. Potter is nothing if not persistent–part of what makes him such an excellent student, of course–but they fight most vehemently whenever they are partnered.”�

“You may say what you like, Minerva,”� said Dumbledore, reaching for the tea kettle and cup that suddenly appeared on his desk, “but I believe their relationship is more concerned with love than hate. Tea? It’s a Muggle brand I rather enjoy; the elves are kind enough to brew it for me when I ask.”�

“No thank you,”� she replied crisply. “I’d like to go over, once more, why you want to make James and Lily the Heads. Potter hasn’t even been a Prefect. It would be most irregular.”�

“No, he hasn’t, but you did agree on the faculty vote that he deserved it, correct?”�

“Deserved…”� McGonagall spluttered, a bit red in the face for some reason. Dumbledore suspected she hadn’t believed that he’d bring that up in the conversation. “I voted that Potter wouldn’t be a bad choice on the basis of his very impressive talents with magic and his strong qualities as a leader, but I would be hard put to say that he’s my first choice. He and Black have _broken_ all the rules that he would now be charged with enforcing, he and his friends have made it most clear that they are nothing in the way of law-abiding students, and furthermore, Albus, it might be said that he can be a bit of a prat.”�

It was Dumbledore’s gentle laughter that caused Fawkes to open one lazy eye from his sunny repose and close it just as slowly. McGonagall grinned for just a moment.

“And he is the top of the class in Transfiguration, and an excellent Quidditch captain for Gryffindor, I believe, which you cannot fault him for,”� chuckled Dumbledore with a twinkle as his deputy headmistress’ face reddened. “Don’t worry, Minerva, I don’t believe you would vote for James if you didn’t find him capable, all house politics aside.”�

“Thank you, Albus. That said–”�

“Yes, that said, it has come to my attention that the requirements and duties of the Head Boy and Girl should perhaps be reconsidered in light of these dark times. It is more important than ever that these students lead the school in model behavior, including their kindness, fairness, and generosity with sharing their talents.”�

“It’s that ‘sharing’ that’s landed Potter more detentions on his record than the whole Prefect squad combined,”� muttered McGonagall, although Dumbledore proceeded as though he hadn’t heard.

“Lily Evans is indisputably the best choice for Head Girl. She is a powerful witch and highly intelligent, open to learning and understanding while very unshakably devoted to the peaceable order that the Head Girl should strive to promote. More importantly, she is unafraid of anyone in this school, which is unfortunately more than I can say for all of our Muggleborn students. It pains me more than you know, Minerva, that we are educating within these walls certain students who will almost assuredly join forces with Voldemort. One can only hope they will have a change of heart.

“What positive qualities Lily Evans has, James Potter matches; those she lacks, he makes up for, and vice versa. As far as I can tell, James is deferential only to a handful of people, most of whose judgment I generally trust, and not the least of those is Lily.

“Critically, James is not above treating those he dislikes with the human dignity. His legendary hatred of the Dark Arts has played an interesting role in his life. His best friend, Sirius Black, comes from a family of witches and wizards who would see Muggleborns become toiling serfs tomorrow. His other friends are also somewhat unique: a boy with a lycan condition and a loyal sort of outcast. James has brought this group together, and the love of his life is a Muggleborn witch. On the other side of the coin, he and Severus Snape harbor bitter hostility towards each other, yet James did not stand by while Severus was in danger, protecting him in defiance of his best friend. Sirius has grown a bit since then, and so has James, and I don’t see any other seventh year boy who has proven so much good about himself.”�

McGonagall blinked.

“Be that as it may, Albus, Potter can be quite spoiled.”�

“I think you’ll find that he is more level-headed than you believe.”�

“He can be stubborn and unruly.”�

“You and Ms. Evans can help him there.”�

“But there are still schedules, patrols, organization elements to consider. He places far too much importance in his own–”�

“Minerva, you are grasping at straws,”� interrupted Dumbledore most delicately and not unkindly. “When have you known James to be late to a Quidditch practice? To hand in a late piece of homework? To be unreliable in any way?”�

With a frustrated huff, McGonagall sat back in her chair and sighed. She looked tired–grayish–and she massaged her temples slowly.

“Sometimes, he disregards doing the homework at all,”� she muttered, but Dumbledore waited patiently in silence for McGonagall to voice her thoughts aloud. As she sat there with her eyes closed, Dumbledore reflected that she was easier to read than ever and wondered slightly that so many students remained in terror of her for seven whole years. She really was a marshmallow inside, a fluffy, berry-flavored marshmallow.

McGonagall opened her eyes. To Dumbledore, her compliance was visible in her face.

“I…”� She spoke softly, trying to be reasonable and keep the emotion from her voice. “I am very fond of Potter. He has been–is–a remarkable student: stunningly brilliant, strongly charismatic, friendly to most people he meets. I suppose I think this responsibility might be a shock to him, and I… I don’t want to make his last year any harder than it must be. The incident with Snape showed his heroism, but it wasn’t easy for him, I know, and it took something out of him for a time. Those were a hard few weeks.

“I too am afraid that some students will face worse tricks than this, perpetrated by more vicious enemies than Sirius Black. The dark times don’t make anything easier. Responsibilities are, as you say, growing more numerous and challenging for our already taxed student leaders. Some will collapse under the pressure, and I daresay our Prefect selection might not all last out the year. I just hope that being Head Boy will make Potter a better and stronger person, not overwhelm him and crack him, or anything of the like.”�

“Your protective instinct is most understandable, Minerva–”� McGonagall managed to give Dumbledore a withering look. “–but we both know James is made of sterner stuff. I am certainly satisfied to the merit of his appointment. The letters will be sent out today, if you have no further objection?”�

“No, I don’t suppose I do.”� Tapping her fingers lightly on the desk, McGonagall looked at Dumbledore thoughtfully. “He will be awfully surprised.”�

“Yes, I imagine he will be.”� Dumbledore smiled as he emptied hot wax onto the envelopes and pressed in the school seal neatly. “As well surprised as the rest of his year.”�

“And most other students besides.”� McGonagall chuckled. “I just hope it isn’t too great a blow to Filch, giving the Head privileges to one of the top troublemakers. Or to Potter’s reputation to that point, for that matter. He’s done a lot of hard work to earn the title.”�

“If any doubts linger, Minerva,”� said Dumbledore with his customary twinkle in his eye, “just consider how nice a favor you’re doing James, giving him the whole year to work with Lily Evans.”�


	2. Family

Sixth year, the summer preceding

_If you're havin' girl problems, I feel bad for you son  
I got 99 problems, but a bitch ain't one…  
I got 99 problems, being a bitch ain't one.  
Hit me._  
99 Problems, Jay-Z  
…..

That awful woman.

His gut was twisted, his teeth gritted, and Sirius felt the bile rising in his throat. They hadn't had it out yet since he'd been home–a grand total of six days so far–and he had felt the tension rising in the air. So what if he had been encouraging it, a bit. _She_ should know better.

It had started off like any one of their other arguments.

"–and if you hadn't foolishly landed yourself in that dreadful house and gone on celebrating by covering my walls with all that scarlet rubbish–"

"Shut it," he snarled, trying to make himself turn away and go upstairs, turn away from the fight that was proving to be quite vicious today. His feet, unsurprisingly, remained rooted to the spot as Mrs. Black raised a dark, slender eyebrow at him. He hated that he had inherited that from her.

"How dare you speak to your mother that way!" she hissed, her naturally high voice lowered dangerously. One veiny, bony hand clenched into a pointed finger that shook in his direction as he paused on the stairs, looking down at her from above. She seemed even smaller than usual from here, except that her black rage radiated widely from her like a thundercloud. "Any more of this language, any more of those stunts you pull–”�

"It wasn't a stunt!" he practically howled, gripping the railing hard in his frustration and trying to even out his tone. "Seeing my mates in Diagon Alley isn't a _stunt_ , it's something normal people do often–"

"Friends of yours, are they? A fat no-account and a werewolf, mixed and dirtied blood in both of them. Then that traitorous Pureblood scum from that vile family of–"

"Don't speak about James that way," he answered quickly, knowing that Prongs' name was a temper button in the Black household. Mrs. Black’s eyes grew darker. He wondered how she had been so pretty, once.

"How do you expect me to speak to my own family, Sirius, when you are disgracing us every moment you leave this house?" Mrs. Black's shrill voice arpeggioed mightily, building a brash, stirring crescendo. "How can I even face Druella when she tells me that Narcissa has seen you and _James_ talking to a Mudblood girl outside Madam Malkin's–”�

"Stop saying that word," he shouted, feeling all the force of his prickling anger and still pathetically pleased that his father wasn’t home to join in with his mother this time. “Maybe if you didn’t send my cousin to spy on me–”�

“Then what should I do, Sirius, to find out where my elder son is most currently dragging our family’s name through the dirt?”�

“–you wouldn’t have such a bloody conniption each time I saw my ma–”�

“Don’t dare call them that! I can’t honestly believe you’d prefer to be seen with filth and Mudbloods to–”�

“I said not to SAY THAT WORD!”� he roared, spinning on his heel and stomping up the stairs. The door to Regulus’ room slammed ever so quietly, a clear indicator that it had been open a crack when Sirius had begun his assent. He seethed at the thought of his fuckwit brother, a deplorable sod who did everything that Mummy told him–

“I am NOT finished yet. What a disrespectful child I have! What a disgrace! That school has brought down nothing but trouble on this house, robbing me of the son I ought to have had!”�

Son. Sirius snorted. “What have I done to deserve that honorific title, Mother?”�

“You return here AT ONCE, Sirius Black, or–”�

“Or what?”� he barked from the second floor landing, mixing in just a smidgen of laughter to really goad her on. “Mother, save it for a few more weeks and then send me another Howler at school, will you? That went off great first year. This way all the kids can share in the treat I get here everyday–”�

“If you think you will be returning for another term, you are taking far too much for granted, Sirius! Your father and I have considered that perhaps five years has been enough time in that place, and we would all be better off with–”�

He was on his way to his room, he had reckoned, but Sirius stopped dead, feeling the thin hairs on his neck creep upright. It was not the first time she had made this threat to him, but he figured she was never closer than now to making good on it. He was still sixteen, still trapped all this summer as a minor, and with little enough gold to his name that he could control.

The fucking summation of it was that it was bloody unfair. She was his _mother_ , for Christ’s sake, and she could hardly help but know him at least a bit no matter how hard he tried to evade her and push her from his life. He knew she knew he loved Hogwarts, loved it more than any other place he had ever been, and that his devotion to it and to his friends meant that he couldn’t just let her hand in transfer forms for him before he was of age. With a stony lump in his chest, his anger ebbing dully, Sirius was about to cave, once again, and retreat silently to his room when his mother’s ceaseless ranting caught his attention:

“–sickened just looking at the decisions you have made since you enrolled in that school. How you could _befriend_ –”� Was that a swear word to her? Like “shit”� to normal mothers? “—such worthless vermin? A boy marked by Fenrir Greyback and a _Potter_ who’s positively swimming in the most odious relations with the whole of the Mudblood population of England–”�

Something snapped. Something snapped inside because it struck home with Sirius that she knew what she was doing, that she knew and understood how much he cared about these people and was _using_ it against him, playing him like she had taught him to play people weaker than himself when he was still a young child. He was still trying to grow out of the person she had made him and there she was–his _mother_!–shouting her head off like a lunatic in the front hall, and for what? What or whose purpose did all this serve? Bloodlines? That bloody tapestry? Voldemort? Fucking buggering _shit_.

“Fine,”� he seethed, whispering at first and then swelling with each subsequent repetition, growing louder just as she did but inversely proportional to her volume this time as she wore herself down. “Fine, _fine_ , FINE. _Fuck_!”� 

A miasma of red swarmed over his vision and Sirius groped for the doorknob, finally shoving his door inward and pulling out his wand. Kreacher was cowering in the corner–fiddling with something of his and trying to break it, no doubt–but he fled at Sirius’ first echoing roar and darted past him for the open door and freedom, though not quite before Sirius landed a kick on his lumpy back.

“ _Fine_!”�

Throwing open his school trunk, Sirius furiously began packing all of his things, all of them, shrinking them and cursing and shaking and magically dropping it all into the trunk in a matter of moments. The case was already spelled for lightness, and he snapped the lid shut with a venomous flick of his wand. Now his trunk–purchased by his parents from a place in _Knockturn-bloody-Alley_ and magically enhanced by the cleverest (and darkest) wizards in the business–contained his clothes, old books, quills, supplies of various kinds, and all the gold he had managed to save outside of Gringotts (currently hidden in one of Peter’s old socks that he had inherited somehow). He didn’t know where he was going or what he would do, but he knew he couldn’t very well stay here in this poisonous house and let her have a go at him or his mates whenever she wanted, dangling his ticket to the Hogwarts Express over his head like a carrot.

He was distantly pleased that most of his posters would need to stay on the walls. He was disgusted that he found himself almost on the verge of shedding tears, and a fresh rage boiled over at that. Grabbing the handle firmly, Sirius spun around and stomped into the hall, dragging the trunk loudly down the stairs and making a great deal of noise despite the Cushioning Charms built into the fabric.

“ _What do you think you are doing_?”�

Without looking at her directly, Sirius pushed past his mother and closed in on the main door, reaching for the dark, curved handle with the hand that still held his wand.

“I’m leaving, Mother.”� He turned to face her and received no pleasant surprise of newfound remorse or empathy there, only the bitterness of her fury in all of her face. Standing there, backlit by the glow of her ancient ornamental scone lamps and fur carpeting and all those beloved bloody portraits, she looked like a little queen, albeit one with a bit of a shake while she quivered with malice. She had always liked disciplining him in front of those portraits. There was no letting up of his rage now, either. “I don’t give a damn about you or anyone else in this shit family. I’m through.”�

“What do you suppose–”�

“I _said_ , I’m leaving!”� he repeated loudly, feeling that certain twinge of self-loathing as he reached down into the nasty place inside of him where his cruelty waited. “You know, I’m doing what Father’s been thinking of doing for a long time now, getting away before you try to off him and get the rest of his gold. Or isn’t it like that with all the best Pureblood marriages–”�

Whatever else he thought she’d do, he wasn’t expecting what followed. With a shriek that was terrible to behold, Mrs. Black swiped her wand from her pocket and made a slashing motion through the air, a hex that Sirius’ hasty shield only just managed to block. There was a crack like a blade cutting on a metal bell, and many inhabitants of the portraits dropped down and hunkered behind the frames of their pictures. 

The sound of the repelled hex punched a hole in Sirius’ anger, and a terrific and primal sadness welled up in its place. Horrified, he looked to his mother again, gazing at her wand askance. She had tried to curse him. Badly. Most of the students in their year wouldn’t have been able to make shields to block a bit like that, and she couldn’t have known for certain that he’d be able to protect himself. She had never punished him by magic like that before.

_Fine_ , he thought in a small voice, gaining resolution from repetition. _Fine_.

“Mother–”�

“How dare you.”� She was whispering in the diminutive voice he was using to think. It hurt to hear aloud. She lifted her face to meet his.

"How dare you." For the single briefest second, Sirius had thought the fight might end differently, without his abandoning the family. Of course, she wasn’t on the same page as he. "Don't imagine for a moment that you'll be fleeing this house and running into the arms of those loathsome Potters or so help me, Sirius, for–"

On some level, it amazed him that she would never, ever, even now, leave well enough alone. On several other levels, it infuriated him all over again and he erupted like a burst firecracker.

He shot a curse into the hall, and although his mother ducked, it wasn't for her. A satisfying explosion ripped through his four most hated ancestors as their portraits burst into pieces right in a row, and a second spell shattered three others on the other opposing wall. There was an uproar as the people inside the remaining frames screamed, pushing and shoving at each other frantically in the search for cover. Sirius blasted apart two more pictures and a vase and checked himself, breathing heavily and panting somewhat like his Animagus form. His mouth was twisted into a fierce line and his lips pinched. He had dreamed about doing that for ages and despite the circumstances, it was just sweet as he had hoped.

Spinning slowly on her heels, Walburga surveyed all that was ruined in her home and finally landed her eyes on Sirius. There was contact for a moment, and a flash of recognition, and he didn't know what would happen next. 

He wasn't staying to find out. 

Sirius kicked open the door and exited into the night. He ran, for blocks and blocks through the city. When he stopped, he was still fuming.

Raging.

Foaming, even.

But something made him slow down and throw away his would-be heavy trunk and sink down onto the curb, anxious not to be seen and desperately wanting someone to find him.

Damn.

The red miasma left him. He had done it this time for sure, nailed the coffin shut. What if he couldn't go back to Hogwarts? What if his letters never came? For that matter, where was he going? It's not as if Bellatrix's mum and dad would welcome him into their home and feed him cake. Or that any of his bloody relatives would for that matter, except maybe mad Uncle Alphard (no thanks) or Andromeda, and he hadn't seen her often enough to even know where she was living with that Muggleborn these days...

Sirius ran a hand through his hair and knew the point was moot. Of course he knew where he was going. There was only one home he'd ever wanted to run to, or rather, only one where he could enter gladly and the occupants wouldn't spit on him or hex him or call the Ministry of Magic outright. Sirius sighed. He wasn't entirely ready. He sat alone on the curb, not quite crying, feeling as miserable and as worn out as if his mother had dragged him through fields of cold mud before almost taking his life. He was lucky (imagine that) that his own mother hadn’t used an Unforgivable on him, or he’d have surely been done for. He’d be dead at her hands right now, if she’d used a slightly worse spell. If he hadn’t stopped that hex in the nick of time. If he hadn’t just left behind the only place he’d ever lived–oh, _shit all_ …

…..  
 _Put down your past, pick up your future,  
Follow me as we journey through the Red Sea,   
‘cause I have been to the mountain top,   
I've seen the Promised Land,   
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the underground category._   
American Dream, Afroman  
…..

Ernie Prang gulped nervously as that young bloke approached the front of the Knight Bus. When he had found him in the early hours of morning, he had thought the kid was a plain drunk on the road, hailing him down for the purpose of vomiting in his rubbish bin. But then he saw the luggage and figured it was something else. Old luggage, that. Expensive. Didn’t know what to make of it. Then the kid had stood up, and since his shadow was tall even sitting down, Ernie couldn’t say he liked the change much. He had driven around suspected Death Eaters with less ill will on their faces, and he wasn’t convinced just yet that this kid wasn’t that sort of person. Ernie had already stopped the bus, though. Nothing to do now but let the bloke get a ride.

His partner was snoring away in the back during his break, but he, Ernie, was wound as tightly as a clock and had been for a few dozen kilometers now. Those eyes were fathomless, like, in the blankest face you could imagine. He had seen some pusses in his day, but that face was _grim_. Paid upfront though, and then he had taken a seat in the back, scowling at everybody but silent.

Now he walked up the aisle, and Ernie winced, but the kid just shouldered his trunk and stepped off the bus without a word. Flipped a coin in his till, even, which was damn nice in times like these. He was young-looking, after all, and maybe he _was_ just a harmless lad. Looked tired around the edges, worn down, maybe.

But then again, maybe he had killed someone just before getting on the bus. The shrimpy driver shivered. Sometimes, Ernie gave himself the willies, but it couldn’t be helped these days. Nope, couldn’t say he was sorry to see the back of that bloke.

…..

Sirius hadn’t spared much of a kind thought for the extremely suspicious driver either. He had gotten where he had to be, and now he was standing in a familiar street that he had memorized by heart on the very first visit. He had thought long and hard on the Knight Bus about the thing with Snape and James and Lily and O.W.L.s just scant weeks earlier, about the slight row that he and James had had and how bad it had hurt, and how in the spirit of penance he let himself be dragged to Diagon Alley solely in hopes of ambushing Evans and righting the mess, how James had botched it up again anyway but not so badly this time, and how after they had fought again briefly and not apologized to each other about it.

And how he was standing outside James’ house now, in the clammy night air that didn’t even have the decency to be a proper thunderstorm or a clear diamond-studded sky. Nothing in the weather commemorated the significance of this particular night like weather was supposed to. It was just another darkness followed by an early morning, except that he, Sirius Black, was now as a good as an orphan.

Sirius reckoned more than ever that a lot of that trouble with James was his fault, and not only that but the fault of him and his mother and people like Snivellus who did whatever evil things they had been brought up to do. His stomach had clenched at the thought of the oily, sneaking Snape and his faint resemblance to Sirius’ mother–which had been a source of amusement to him, on other days: similar in their unflappable interest in high-handed hexing. Well, his mother was more interested in Sirius’ social life than Snape was, but still. His father was barely there, but he wasn’t the friendliest when he was of course, and then there was Regulus. How he had managed to have such an awful family Sirius would never know.

He had hated the lot of them for so long that he was mad at himself for being the least bit upset about this. What was running away to him, as long as he got his Hogwarts letters delivered? Dimly, a part of Sirius realized how he’d be messed up over this for a long time, not just tonight but maybe for months from now.

Sighing, Sirius rang the Potters’ bell. Just as he withdrew his hand he remembered the odd hour and the whiff of dawn on the breeze, but it was too late, as he felt some kind of magical defense sweeping over him and a ward on the house tingle to life. There was the sound of running from inside, then a crash, then a pause and then a shout and then the door opened.

James stood there in the foyer, in his rumpled nightclothes with a lowered wand at his side. Sirius had never been so glad to see him. James must have glanced him through the window, and although he seemed groggy his voice was clear enough when he said,

“Sirius, mate, what are you–”�

“Don’t be such a fool to open that door, James! It could be anybody!”� _Crack_! Mrs. Potter Apparated into sight with her wand waving already, a tall and wide-eyed woman with smooth iron-grey hair. She looked as though she had come directly from her bed to do battle.

“Mum, honestly, it’s Sirius–”�

“You can’t tell that by _looking_ at him, James, are you some idiot–”�

“Don’t bloody Apparate right in front of him, Delphinia! You’ll both be killed!”� That was Mr. Potter, come down to join in the fray and–more wisely than the rest, thought Sirius–leveling his wand right at Sirius’ face.

“ _Dad_ , it’s Sirius–”�

“I’ve raised a daft son–”�

“Mum–”�

“James, _get out of the way now_ –”�

Suddenly, as Sirius found himself staring down the handle of a wand for the second time that evening, he felt a real and dangerous prickling behind his dry eyes and the unlaunched waterfall reared up with new immediacy. The flood of things he thought he had been dealing with threatened to burst, and a strangled sound escaped from his throat. He looked up at the Potters, all three of them facing him now, and as they saw his face they lowered their wands.

“Yeah, it’s Sirius,”� said James heavily, stowing his wand away with certainty. “What happened, Padfoot?”�

He tried to answer, honestly he did, but if he did answer just then he might really lose it and start sobbing there on the spot. At that moment, Mrs. Potter glimpsed the trunk he was dragging and met his eyes directly. Sirius looked away first. He couldn’t–not just now–

“Oh, Sirius, do come in! We’ll get a bed made up soon, and you can tell us everything in the morning–er, later in the morning. Come in, Sirius, come in.”�

Twenty minutes later they sat on separate beds in James’ room, talking and sitting up a bit. Sirius would move into his own room tomorrow, Mrs. Potter assured him, once it was done up nicely. They had been so gracious about the whole thing: Mrs. Potter chatting with well-applied gaiety and fussing over him, Mr. Potter quiet and thoughtful but not without an encouraging little smile for him. Sirius had apologized to James about his part in the Evans O.W.L.s Disaster, and James had said he was stupid since it wasn’t his fault and what had they even been fighting about anyway, and they had fallen asleep still talking about Quidditch and girls by the time Mrs. Potter came in to wake them the next morning.

“You know, Sirius, you never did give us your code word last night,”� she said brightly, throwing open the shades to the sunlight and making James groan and shove his head further under his pillow. “I could have been welcoming You-Know-Who into the house without knowing it.”�

“Really, Mum, don’t say that.”�

Sirius, however, laughed out loud. No one would ever make a joke about Voldemort in his house.

“How’s ‘Lily Evans,’ Mrs. Potter? Will that do or–”�

“Padfoot, _shut up_.”�

“Ohhh, Lily Evans, eh? That’ll work just fine, dear. Though so many people know already that it’s possible the situation has reached the ears of the Death Eaters by now.”� 

“ _Mum_!”�

Mrs. Potter winked at Sirius, and so much of James’ mischief had come from her that it made him smile. It was hard not to be happy around that woman. Sirius realized how he had never really experienced having a mother before, and Mrs. Potter’s smile made him sure it would be time well spent.

“Welcome home, Sirius.”�

...

_A/N: The title "Non Sequindor" is just "non sequitur" and "Gryffindor" smooshed together to make an interesting new word for a title. Not much else to say besides let me know what you think of the chapter._


	3. Trains

**Warning: PG-13, but entirely based on adult theme as told by two teenage boys.**

 

Sixth year, over the Christmas holiday

_I jumped up with a devilish grin  
‘Cause tonight–damn right–I might do it again. _  
One More Drink, Ludacris ft. T-Pain  
.....

 

“I had sex,”� announced Sirius as he opened the door to James’ room.

Alarmed, James sat bolt upright in bed. Sirius was always an early riser–a habit he was thankfully starting to give up on the weekends–and James vaguely remembered last night’s intentions to visit Diagon Alley, but he was sure he would have recalled if the initial plans had included sex. 

“What?”�

“I shagged a girl today,”� said Sirius patiently, “on the way here.”�

“On the way…”� repeated James dully, disoriented at the news and at being so unsubtly pulled from his still-pretending-to-asleep daydreams. 

“Yeah, sort of. Can I have this? I’ve been up since nine,”� asked Sirius, pointing to an orphaned Chocolate Frog on the dresser.

“Sure, yeah, that’s fine.”� James fumbled for his glasses and found the clock. Two p.m. He groaned, having wasted more time than he thought. He jammed the spectacles down on his nose and faced Sirius again.

“Your mum made us breakfast earlier,”� said Sirius. “Her spots are really clearing up quick now.”�

“Mmm, but Dad thinks she’s cheating on her potions, feeding them to the owl when we’re not watching.”�

“I would too, mate.”� Sirius wrinkled his nose. “That shit they use to treat scrofungulus is disgusting.”�

“Yeah.”�

There was a pause. Remus might have inquired as to far more logistical details of Sirius’ sexual encounter at this point, but James wasn’t Remus. He watched as Sirius turned around the desk chair and lowered himself into it, shrugging his expensive coat onto the floor.

“How was it, then?”�

“Fine, I guess, especially for the first go.”� Sirius shrugged. “She seemed to have a good enough time.”�

“Who was it?”� asked James interestedly.

“Some Muggle bird named Yvonne.”�

“ _What_?”�

“Yeah, tell me about it. I met her on the Muggle side of the Leaky Cauldron,”� continued Sirius casually. “We were both eying the motorbikes at that place near the shoe store. Muggles have some great models, even if they can’t fly. She said her friends would never understand if she got one.”�

“And you just… shagged her then? After discussing motorbikes?”� said James, bewildered. It was not unusual that Sirius would take off to do solitary things at what were unholy hours to James–spending mornings combing through the Potters’ veritable library of spellbooks, swimming in private pools as Padfoot–and his most recent obsession was scouting the country for a buyable flying motorbike.

“Pretty much, yeah. She was older, I think, probably like twenty. Going to some Muggle university and here for the holidays.”�

Puffing up his cheeks, James did his best to get a solid grasp on this unlikely scenario. The sun was high in the white winter sky, and a dull brightness pervaded the space through the snow-dusted window.

“So you went to her flat?”�

“No, we shagged on the bus.”�

“The _bus_?”�

“Wait, no, it was the train. I always fuck that up. Muggle trains really don’t look much like the Hogwarts Express, you know?”�

“Mate,”� marveled James, “you shagged a bird on a Muggle train?”�

Sirius nodded, chucking the crumpled Frog wrapper into the wastebasket.

“You want the card? It’s Circe.”�

“You know I don’t keep that rubbish, Padfoot.”�

“Yeah.”� Sirius tossed away the card away as well. “It was a little bumpy, and probably really filthy, but not terrible. It still felt good, I mean. I got off and all. She might’ve too, but I dunno exactly. It’s hard to sort that out in the moment. I expect it gets easier to tell with practice.”�

James laughed and launched a pillow at Sirius, who ducked and grinned like he had probably wanted to all along.

“I told her my name was Simon so she wouldn’t be weird, you know? Later I had no idea at first who she was shouting about and I nearly told her off.”�

They roared with laughter together, and then there was a knock on the door. Mrs. Potter poked her head in.

“Would you boys like some biscuits or a spot of tea? I’ve got a new tin of the chocolate kind from Honeydukes.”�

“No thanks, Mum.”�

“Any breakfast, James?”�

“I’ll get some later.”�

“Be sure to get Sirius anything he wants, all right? He may live here now, but he’s still our guest.”�

“ _Thank_ you, Mum,”� gritted James. “I’m sure I’ve got things under control here.”�

Mrs. Potter beamed at Sirius conspiratorially, who repaid her in kind with a sunny grin that few others ever managed to receive. Sirius and Mrs. Potter had always been very friendly, growing that much closer since Sirius had moved in with the Potters over the summer. Sirius wanted nothing more than to be a part of a loving family, and Mrs. Potter loved nothing more than mothering a son, and Sirius’ transition from friend to brother had been effortless and instantly accepted.

“And pick up your things, James. House elves have gotten lost and died in less clutter than this. It’s like a dragon’s hoard.”�

James’ mum was elderly, kind, and joyous, thoroughly uninterested in appearances, and the only true female in Sirius’ life. He adored Mrs. Potter. He had even helped nurse her while she was laid out with scrofungulus earlier in the month, returning with James for a weekend to settle her in while Mr. Potter was holed up in his study preparing all the healing potions. They were a wonderful couple, the Potters, very much in love and forever doting on James and Sirius (and Remus and Peter, when they visited), which was a nice change from Grimmauld Place.

“Don’t you have some potions to take, Mum?”�

Mrs. Potter made a disgusted face at her son, and James stolidly returned the look until the door closed. They waited until her slow footfalls had reached the bottom of the stairs before they resumed sniggering. James pulled a decently clean shirt from the floor and tugged it over his head.

“Still, Padfoot, a train?”�

“Well I had to take her somewhere since Regulus was still watching, and she suggested–”�

James nearly lost balance and fell out of bed.

“ _WHAT_?”� he shouted, wildly grabbing at the coverlet and staring agog.

“Oh yeah, that bit,”� said Sirius evenly. “Mother Black sent Regulus to spy on me.”�

“To spy…?”�

“Yeah, but he’s bollocks at it,”� explained Sirius with obvious derision. “I always catch on about two minutes in. Doesn’t know a Muggle street map from his arse, Regulus, which is why today I decided to detour through Muggle London after I picked up those books from Flourish and Blotts. I figured I’d get him lost after three paces from the Leaky Cauldron, but when I started chatting up that girl, well, I couldn’t think of a more beautiful plan that letting him catch me snogging her. Dead attractive, you know, and clearly a Muggle. She was even using one of those Muggle lighters when I first saw her.”�

Rubbing his eyes hard, James stared at his best friend in disbelief.

“You mean you shagged a Muggle to pay back Regulus?”�

“Not pay him back, just sort of in order to foil _them_ is all.”� James didn’t need to ask to know that “them”� was an overt reference to Sirius’ hateful family. “When he reports back to Walburga, she’ll be furious I went off with a Muggle, but she’ll never be able to scream at me or find out if we shagged because she’d have to speak to me first and own up to sending Regulus to spy. Brilliant, isn’t it?”�

“Jesus, Padfoot,”� said James, somewhat in awe. “You ditched your virginity so that your mum would think you shagged a Muggle?”�

“Basically, yeah. And I _did_ shag Yvonne, so it’s not a lie or anything. Probably just Mother’s worst fear come true.”�

“Huh.”�

They were both silent again for a while as James turned this over in his mind. “So Regulus wasn’t on the train?”�

“Absolutely not, Prongs, that’s gross,”� said Sirius with an artfully pained expression. “I lost him at the train station. He’s never taken the time to learn how to operate Muggle ticket stands– ‘course Yvonne did it for me, I think she’s done this before or something–and Regulus saw me get handsy with her at the bike shop and then he left off altogether just after we started snogging at the station. By the way, I never reckoned you could get such an empty train in London, but there’s hardly anybody taking your line at one on a Tuesday afternoon.”�

“Good to know,”� responded James drily. He shifted against the headboard. “Do you reckon Regulus made it back to your house?”�

“Yeah, I suppose. Even an idiot like him doesn’t really get lost two blocks from the Leaky Cauldron. If he had gotten on the train though…”� Sirius cracked a swift and severe smile at the thought. “Darling Regulus recently used up all his spending money on an early Christmas gift for himself: a new plaything from Borgin and Burkes. I heard him bragging at Hogwarts. The thing’s supposedly full of really Dark Magic, but it’s absolutely worthless and they must have taken him completely under. He’s broke until Father gives him some more gold, which means he wouldn’t even be able to afford the Knight Bus. He might’ve been lost for days just trying to sort out his left from his right.”�

James laughed along, but he was never really pleased to discuss Sirius’ vindictive relationship with his disavowed brother. Sirius usually wasn’t interested in this either, unless the story offered up to opportunity for proving how much of a git Regulus was.

“Your mother’s going to skin you alive, Padfoot, one of these days.”�

“Yeah, she might. Or have Kreacher or Voldemort do it,”� said Sirius darkly. “Mother’s going to need help untwisting her knickers after this one. But really, Prongs, you’ve got to check out Muggle trains. They’re right odd–no steam on top or any regular compartments that I could see.”�

“Did you shag in a seat?”� asked James curiously, happy to drop the subject of the most loathsome house of Blacks.

“Nah, the loo. Actually, we shagged twice, and I guess the first time was technically in a corner or something in the main part of train surrounded by seats. Come to think of it, I’m just about totally sure she’s done this before. She must have. The loo was dirtier, but we were able to go at it for longer because it was more private. There was a man sleeping in the seats on the other end of the train–old, resembling Slughorn–and he snored something awful. I kept thinking he’d wake up and stare right at us.”�

“That’s a little weird, actually,”� James said, picturing a homeless Slughorn slumbering in a plastic seat. “Not certain I’m on board with that bit.”�

“No, no, it was hot,”� clarified Sirius. “Just nerve wracking. I didn’t even see her naked, you know. We undid our trousers and I got her shirt open in the loo.”�

“Nice rack?”�

“Very nice. Healthy size, I’d say.”�

James snorted at this most basic assessment.

“Face okay?”�

“Fine around the mouth and lovely eyes, but the tiniest bit beaky in the nose.”�

“Bum?”�

“Negligible, although she did this fantastic clenching thing with her thighs that was great.”�

“Clenching?”� echoed James thoughtfully. He scratched the side of his face. “Hmm.”� Observing James with a knowing eye, Sirius laughed and rocked his chair backwards onto two legs.

“Don’t go picturing Evans, Prongs.”�

“I’m not,”� snapped James, getting sullen at once and pulling on pants over his boxers. “I wish you’d stop harping on that.”�

“I wish you would.”� Sirius popped open a drawer of the desk at random and a Snitch whizzed through the air. James scowled and caught it automatically. “I mean, really Prongs, aren’t you interested in shagging a girl at all?”�

“Yeah, I’m bloody interested, there just aren’t exactly a lot of opportunities on my day-to-day schedule, Padfoot.”�

“That’s rubbish. I know plenty of birds who’d do it for you. What about Hopkirk? Nice bum, good hips. She lives up your lane anyway, you could visit her tomorrow.”�

“Just walk up and say, ‘Fancy a shag, Mafalda? I know we don’t talk much, but you have a nice bum and good hips, so let’s fuck’? A prize-winning plan, Padfoot.”�

“It would be if you would just get over Evans.”�

“I _am_ over her, or I would be if you all stopped bringing it up. We’re getting to be friends this year, and I can’t ruin it.”�

Sirius shrugged noncommittally like he always did, like he and James both did when being somewhat evasive; it was a habit one had picked up from the other very early on and it was now indistinguishably theirs.

“Whatever. You don’t want to be friends with Evans, Prongs, you want–”�

“It’s not like that, all right?”� answered James shortly. “I mean, of course I would with Evans, but I’d sleep with anyone if there were reasonable circumstances. These opportunities simply don’t present themselves.”�

“They’ll never present themselves if you don’t stop mooning over Evans.”�

“I told you, I’m–oh, nevermind. We said we wouldn’t do this.”�

“Yeah, you’re right. Sorry.”� Genuinely repentant, Sirius tried for a grin that James more than matched, each one thinking of an earlier argument from the summer that hadn’t ended prettily.

“I mean, you’re right too, Padfoot. I do want Lily. Badly, even. After all this time. I think I’m getting closer, you know, which keeps me from stopping.”� James ruffled up his hair absently, a slight frown pulling at his lips. “I just don’t want you to think I’m, well, saving myself for her or something like that. I’m not. I just don’t have any other real prospects at the moment, yeah?”�

“That’s because you only want her,”� answered Sirius wistfully, melancholy in his helplessness to keep his best mate from being so often laid low by a girl. James made no response but a slight nod, and they were quiet now for a few moments, both lost in their respective, cloudy thoughts. 

“So,”� said James finally, breaking into a wide smile as no one else could, “what was it like?”�

“Sex?”�

“Yeah. Was it better than wanking off?”�

“Loads better, but I think that if Yvonne had been a dead awful person–or weepy–I might have preferred to do it myself. I wish I had known her even a bit more, really, even though we talked for a while outside the bike shop. You’ll probably love it, Prongs, what with always going on about liking to get close to girls and get to know them and things.”�

“You’re a prick, you know?”� said James fondly, releasing the hyperactive Snitch from his clenched fist. Sirius grinned and caught it this time, not as smoothly as James had but just as effectively. He had seen Prongs do it enough, after all.

“So I hear. You want to owl Moony about this just to piss him off?”�

“Yeah,”� said James, speedily warming up to the idea, “a really vague message that might also allude to his little tryst in October?”� 

“Hadn’t thought of it,”� said Sirius in mock contemplation, tapping his fingers to his chin, “but that it might, Prongs, that it might.”� 

“Maybe he and Wormtail can come over for tea later too, yeah?”�

“Sounds good to me, mate.”�

“Perfect.”�


	4. Does

Fifth year, end of term

_It’s perfectly normal, nothing wrong with me,  
But we’re going to need a cleanup on aisle three._  
Jizz in My Pants, The Lonely Island  
…..

“ _Expecto Patronum_ ,”� Lily muttered darkly, only to allow a bit of a begrudging smile at the memory of her first sight of Hogwarts from the train. Her expression soured quickly, however, at the spell’s effect, as she watched a fresh, pearly-white doe leap from her wand and canter gracefully over the grass. What the fuck.

It was a lovely afternoon of yellow and gold and all the better because it was the last day of O.W.L.s. Unfortunately, things were amiss. Lily had expected today to mark the height of joy for her fifth year–not too high a standard considering the shit time she’d been having–but it was not to be. Charms, of all things, had done her in this morning because of the identity crisis Lily had experienced on the practical. Staying focused on Ordinary Wizarding Levels after last night’s falling out with Severus–no, _Snape_ –had been hard enough, but not turning completely barmy was near impossible when one _couldn't even summon one’s own Patronus_.

The Charms exam had been going well enough. Lily was pretty sure she had aced each one of the tests in the practical on her favorite subject, and she wasn’t too surprised when the batty assessor tried to pull a fast one by making the final test the Patronus Charm. It was almost too easy, as she had been practicing it for weeks in January by imagining Petunia’s future wedding pictures with that disgusting Dursley.

Admittedly, the thing with Snape was really unfortunately timed, and as usual Potter hadn’t made things better, and Lily really had to concentrate on the weightless glory of her first flying leap off the swings before shouting, “ _Expecto Patronum_!”�

“That’ll do, Evans. Nice work today,”� said the smelly old examiner, a loon who clearly didn’t know what he was talking about, because that wasn’t her Patronus. Hers wasn’t a doe. She didn’t know anyone with a Patronus that was a doe. It was strange mistake for an examiner, but from his squinty eyes and plump cheeks, it was possible he was half in the bag anyway. And she might have closed her eyes when she cast the spell. Lily tried again.

“ _Expecto Patronum_!”�

No mistaking it this time, as the foreign forest creature flowered from her wand. She had made a _doe_. Lily stared, stunned, as the examiner remarked mildly,

“Got it the first time, Evans. You can leave now.”�

Lily stared down at her wand like it had suddenly grown a vine of Venomous Tentacula, but she was too stunned to do more than numbly nod to the examiner and walk out of the hall. A doe? _A doe_?

Her Patronus was a unicorn. A beautiful, noble unicorn, such a lordly creature with a thick, hairy tail and a shiny horn. Not some useless shit doe, with no horn and a stub tail. A defenseless waste of an animal. Lily positively loved unicorns as a girl, was ecstatic about Hogwarts in part because unicorns were there, and had enrolled in Kettleburn’s mad class–freezing her arse off at dawn watching for Kneazles in heat–solely for the purpose of being _near_ unicorns. It had all fit. Lily had been mighty satisfied with her Patronus, but it seemed she had taken it for granted. Never given it a thought. Now, she had a bloody doe.

Her friends had asked her to sit by the water again, but there was no need of a repeat of yesterday’s performance by Potter and his band of morons, thank you very much. Instead, Lily was under a tree some distance off from the lake, worrying that something terrible was happening to her magic as she summoned a new Patronus to replace its fading predecessor.

“ _Expecto Patronum_!”�

Again! Lily was fascinated by this long-legged alien that appeared before her, gazing at her as intently as a Patronus-deer could. It was rubbish. Who had ever heard of a doe protecting anyone, anyway? It didn’t have proper teeth. It didn’t have deadly claws. It’s hooves were nowhere near the league of a unicorn’s.

Lily realized that while she was staring at the semi-transparent doe, she was also inadvertently staring at Potter, who was sitting some ways back on the lawn with Black. He was not even trying to pretend that he wasn’t staring at her, too, looking more Stupified than usual. Then Lily remembered how he had been taking the practical only a stone’s throw away–bungling the Conjunctivitis Charm probably, since he thought he was so good at everything that he could stay out all night with the Marauders and not study–but seeing him keyed her up all over again. All the bafflement and emotional upheaval of the past few hours almost led Lily to forget her new resolution not to hate James Potter just because Snape did and to only hate him because he deserved it.

Showing a surprising amount of tact and undoubtedly thanks to Remus’ steadying influence, Potter hadn’t yet done anything stupid to her all day. Waving away the fading remains of the new Patronus with anguish, Lily walked up and planted herself in front of him.

“Potter, can I have a word?”�

Trapped is what he looked like, though not especially guilty or smarmy or even as falsely innocent as usual. More like bewildered. Stunned, or even Stunned, and he looked to Black to save him but received no reaction. Potter hadn’t even brought out his irritating Snitch routine today.

“Ah, what?”�

He licked his lips nervously and automatically touched his hair, but there was no accompanying wink or fawning smile. It was all done so unlike he usually did those things that Lily couldn’t help but falter a bit, although her confusion and suspicion hardly abated. She rounded on Sirius, who was lounging casually only a half a meter away.

“What are you sneering at, Black?”�

“I’m not,”� he said evenly, with a carefully neutral expression. She waited for something snide to follow, but Sirius remained silent, so she turned back to Potter again.

“You know what. You must have altered my Patronus somehow before the exam, though I can’t imagine why. Maybe so I’d fail because my Patronus is so stupid now. I don’t know how you did it, but I want it back. I’m guessing you used more of your Transfiguration–”�

“That’s rubbish,”� said Sirius loudly, ignoring a miserable pointed look from James. He leaned back on his hands and regarded her somewhat disconcertingly. “You can’t Transfigure a Patronus, Evans. You know that.”�

Lily felt her face flush because of course she knew that. She wasn’t a moron, and she knew more about Charms than Black could learn in a lifetime, and she was about to tell him so when a potentially perfect solution to her problem strode into view along the path to Hagrid’s hut. Lucky the bushes were pruned closely, otherwise she might not have caught sight of the vertically challenged Professor Flitwick hurrying to keep pace beside Professor McGonagall.

“Ah!”� Lily said, forgetting her nasty retort to Black and failing to register Potter’s curious lip movements, as if his mouth weren’t working properly. “This’ll settle it. PROFESSOR!”�

She hurried over the grass, accidentally squishing a worm, and caught up with Flitwick and McGonagall just before they descended the slope. They looked up at Lily, and Flitwick beamed.

“Professor Flitwick!”� Lily said, somewhat out of breath. “Professor, I–oh, er, hello, Professor–Professor Flitwick, I’ve got to talk to you about the exam.”�

“The examiner has already mentioned to me that you did exceedingly well this morning, Lily!”� chirped Flitwick, bouncing a bit on his heels.

“Oh, it’s not about that,”� replied Lily, slightly embarrassed. “It’s about my Patronus, actually.”�

“Yes, yes,”� laughed Flitwick, looking mighty pleased and sharing a proud smile with his colleague. “Why, there was nothing they could give you that you couldn’t manage! I heard you even did it twice.”�

Normally, Flitwick was her favorite professor, but today all his cheery grinning and smiling made Lily want to pick him up and shake some focus into him.

“Professor, that wasn’t my Patronus,”� she said bluntly. Flitwick blinked. His beaming dimmed, but Lily supposed that his mouth was too used to being perky to ever summon a frown properly. McGonagall was giving her a stern look.

“You mean it wasn’t you who cast–”�

“Oh _no_ , not like _that_ ,”� said Lily hurriedly, red in the face again (or was it still?). “I cast it fine, I did the magic.”�

As if cued with an electric switch, Flitwick re-brightened immediately.

“Then there’s no trouble at all! Your Patronus was the strongest of the whole year’s, Lily, and most pleasantly corporeal. Why, it ran up to Professor Kettleburn and the surprise certainly–”�

“Professor, I’ve been hexed!”� she bawled. She was breathing heavily again, and now McGonagall was definitely staring at her.

“Er, hexed?”� asked a most perplexed Flitwick.

“Hexed! Jinxed! Transfigured, or something,”� replied Lily. “That wasn’t _my_ Patronus, see. My Patronus isn’t like that, it’s always been a unicorn, and someone changed it on me during the exam.”�

“Changed…?”�

“Yes, look!”�

Nonverbally this time, because she was absolutely fed up with rattling those two words about on her tongue, Lily threw the shape of a shining doe out from her wand. Flitwick and McGonagall watched with interest as the doe glanced somewhat mournfully at Lily before trotting off slowly back in the direction from which Lily had came, evanescing further into nothingness with each step.

“Interesting,”� squeaked Flitwick. “That is most certainly not a unicorn.”�

“No,”� agreed Lily sadly.

“And yet, no witch or wizard can alter another’s Patronus, Lily. There is no spell that can affect the charm’s casting or its outcome. We know precious little about the Patronus, yet we are reasonably certain that it is far too personal a magic to be affected by any of the ordinary means. But you remember the lesson, of course. When did you say you cast it last?”�

“Er,”� Lily thought back over the preceding whirlwind of the last few days of exams. “Before this morning, I’d say it had been about three days since I had gone over the basic Charms.”�

Flitwick’s neat eyebrows knit together like a white caterpillar. 

“Pardon me, but perhaps you have had an emotional episode since then that has caused this change,”� he suggested. “More than the usual stress of exams. There’s no other explanation for your Patronus changing unless it’s really _you_ that’s done the changing, Lily.”�

Lily listened, but she didn’t want to be reasonable. She wanted an explanation, not mysterious babbling about “it’s you that’s changed inside, Lily, and inside it what matters”� and all that rot. _She_ didn’t look any different this morning, whereas her Patronus had been entirely de-horned and de-tailed and outfitted with incorrect hooves.

“Filius, so sorry to interrupt,”� said McGonagall, not sounding particularly sorry in Lily’s way of thinking, “but Hagrid did say he needed to see us before three–”�

“Yes, yes, Minerva, quite true. I’m sure you’ll puzzle it out, Lily,”� squeaked Flitwick encouragingly. “Waffling has a section on Patronuses in the fourth edition of his theory book. I’m sure Madam Pince could help you there.”�

_Madam Pince_ …! Lily fumed, speechless, and remained rooted to the spot where the professors had left her. Her _Patronus_ had changed, for Merlin’s sake! _Madam Pince_. Honestly. Of all the–

Abruptly, Lily exhaled to a count of five and gritted her teeth. She had been ignoring it since she had went to bed, so now was as a good a time as any to sort through her feelings on yesterday. It was necessary to reign in these emotional outpourings and be sensible. Quite sensible. Very wisely, Lily decided it was high time to crack open her last Cauldron Cake from the O.W.L.s studying stash. Soon she was munching away in the shade of a wide-boughed, lonely tree, mulling determinedly over the events of the last twenty six or so hours.

So obviously the bout with Severus had affected her more than she had liked. Lily recalled that sickening feeling she had felt at hearing that word and how it was the first–and last–time she had reacted viscerally to being called “Mudblood.”� She couldn’t deny, though, that the explosion had been months in coming. Even by third year, when Lucius Malfoy had taken Severus aside for a talk and returned him all greenish and smug, and definitely by fourth year, when she had found a Blood Purity information pamphlet in his schoolbag, Lily no longer exactly knew her childhood friend. She was strong enough to be friends with a universally loathed Slytherin, but she was not interested in being friends with someone who couldn’t be friends with her. So how could Snape have altered her Patronus?

Lily licked her fingers to sweep up all the crumbs of frosting. All right, so she had done a _little_ bit of thinking yesterday, listing all the ideas Snape had indoctrinated in her and deciding to break with them publically so as to piss him off. Easiest would be finally reading those books on Quidditch that Emmeline had given her so that she knew what was going on at those games. Most rewarding would be to finally not give a damn about beating him in Potions, the snotty bastard, and adding academic inferiority to a Muggleborn onto the pile of Snape’s top concerns.

The chief concern was Potter, naturally. His supposedly fancying her–doubtful really, probably just another excuse for him to do to show off loudly in front of a crowd–had nothing to do with it. She had even almost decided to be nice to Potter at dinner yesterday but then dropped the idea after he leered at her. Sod. Potter wasn’t much more fun to be around than a flobberworm–well, all right he was funny but really annoying–but he still wasn’t evil, as Snape insisted, and up to his ears in Dark Arts, as Snape’s friends were, so Lily decided that it might do not to be so militantly anti-Potter. He might respond well to positive reinforcement.

Still, none of these things were enough to change a Patronus, right? Lily herself had hardly changed at all. That reminded her, though, of the incident before the O.W.L. this morning, during which she had acted decided out of character. Or maybe that was what her character had been all along. Maybe it was too soon to decide. 

Mulciber must have somehow sensed that it was open season on does, or perhaps he had been there by the lake the other day. The disgusting git and his pint-sized tagalong Avery had accosted her in the hallway before breakfast, levying fairly nasty taunts at her. Personal ones. Lily scowled darkly, picturing the slimy smile on Avery’s face and the deadened inflection of Mulciber’s voice, remote and unconcerned, as if he were just participating in an exercise of cruelty. Lily supposed Snape had been somehow shallowly protecting her all this time from the full force of their hatred, and now the truce was over. She remembered how _angry_ she had gotten at them and at Snape, and how she had _tried_ to shrug it off but to no avail. Especially when Mulciber so superficially mentioned her mother, dead for these seven months and still lodged in Lily’s heart like a lump in her throat.

“Don’t _dare_ , Mulciber, you fucking piece of shit,”� she had hissed, fingers unknowingly grasping for her wand. Mulciber had smiled that bloodless smile that he was so good at and carried on undeterred.

“Now Evans, don’t be sad. Be like me, satisfied. See, a dead Muggle makes me happy, especially a bitch who gave birth to a Mudbl–”�

A bang rang out and Lily’s spell lifted Mulciber clear off his feet and bashed him into the stony wall. He crumpled there, groaning, and she felt no pity as she coolly put him into the Full-Body Bind. She had turned to Avery next, but he fled down the hall, and she had marched off to breakfast without a backward glance at the prone Mulciber. It was a distinctly Potter-ish reaction, instinctive and unchecked by any level-headedness whatsoever. She had felt great after doing it but unsettled. Was that Lily Evans there? She had never done anything so flagrantly violent before, but then they had never been so awful to her before.

Nonetheless, it certainly wasn’t a doe-like reaction. Lily examined the possibilities, but no reason for her Patronus’ transformation came to mind. Also, she realized she didn’t want to be like Snape or Potter, dueling up and down the castle at the slightest provocation. She wanted to be in control of herself. However, nobody was going to tell her what to do or who to do it to anymore, especially Snape. His noxious view of the world hadn’t stopped her from making other friends who thought differently, but it had prevented her from being hard enough on the people who needed it. Lily knew better, now, and had a better understanding of why people like Potter picked on him so.

_Was the Patronus change really due to Snape?_ Lily mused, playing with a bit of grass between her fingers. He hadn’t been her best friend since they were eleven. Her loyalties had always lain with Gryffindor, hadn’t they? Maybe Flitwick’s precious “emotional episode”� had happened this morning, when she attacked Mulciber. That didn’t seem important enough, either. Taking the incidents together, however, coupled with her revitalized state of mind could be “upheaval”� enough, Lily supposed. But why a bloody doe?

“ _Expecto Patronum_ ,”� she repeated purposefully, thinking of her last bright morning in the garden with Mum. This time, Lily regarded the doe carefully, pleased it didn’t run off again. So little was know about Patronuses… what did they really mean? Something that made her feel safe? Something that reflected who she was? Something that reflected another person in her life? Lily didn’t like to think that a doe satisfied any of these conditions, but it was at least a lithe and lovely creature. Maybe it was simply a symbol of her changing allegiances, from suffering Snape’s rankling ideologies to fighting against them. Though a unicorn would have been a far more efficient combative force.

Biting her lip, Lily stretched out her hand, and the doe lipped her fingertips, leaving the lightest trace of sensation behind. She shuddered, not sure why, as she stared into its eyes. It seemed alert, at least, and active. Does were probably fast, too, which was a good quality to have. Drive off loads of Dementors quickly or something.

Far before she was satisfied with her examination, the doe vanished. Lily sat back against the tree’s trunk. It seemed the secret would be concealed from her for a while longer, if she were ever to discover it at all. She should probably apologize to Potter for hounding him with accusations earlier.

Apologize to Potter. Lily laughed at herself and got up to join her friends at the lakeside, brushing the dirt and bracken off her robes. Now that’s something she wouldn’t have considered doing yesterday. Tough luck for Snape, wasn’t it? She smiled, thinking of how she wouldn’t mind being in the audience at another one of their famous rows. Then again, whatever Severus was, Potter had no right to be so deliberately brutal with him. She only hoped Snape would start the trouble next time.

As she walked over to the lake where Emmeline, Marlene, Caradoc, Mary, and Benjy were sitting, Lily heard a whistle. She didn’t need to look to know who it was; she frowned briefly and kept walking. No apologizing to Potter, then, if he was still being a berk. Old habits died hard, eh?

“Hey you lot!”� she cried to her mates, breaking out into a wide, sunny grin. Severus was watching from his shadowy lair under the beech tree, but Lily didn’t care: it was no longer her responsibility to try to cajole him into being friendly. A rush of freedom and elation hit her system, and she pulled out her wand with a flourish. “Guess what happened to me today.”� 

“You single-handedly rewrote the requirements for the Charms O.W.L.s?”� suggested Marlene McKinnon with a wink at Emmeline. “You got such a perfect mark that they haven’t even invented a grading system for it yet?”�

“No, you twit. I lost my unicorn.”�

“Your what?”�

“Yeah, just look at this. _Expecto Patronum_!”�

.....

**A/N: 221 is to 5 as views are to reviews. This is discouraging, just so you know. I'd love to listen to your thoughts, my friends, and see the amount of feedback inch up a tad, even and especially criticism.**


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